


Third of His Name

by rhun13



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Family, Friendship, History, Lineage, Love, Relationship(s), legacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 04:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11028444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhun13/pseuds/rhun13
Summary: During Vox Machina's post-Conclave gap year, Percival de Rolo III reflects on growing up in the shadow of the ancestors he is named for. Don't worry, Vex'ahlia is here to help him try to make sense of it.This idea brought to you by my grandmother Elma who would refer to my grandfather, Harry Anzac, as "Zac" because there was already a Harry in his family before he came along.





	Third of His Name

**Author's Note:**

> _Critical Role_ and its characters are the property of their respective owners. I am not one of those respective owners. This is a fan work, written for pleasure and not profit.

A cold wind howled through the Alabaster Sierras, cutting through Percy’s coat like a knife. Winter’s Crest was approaching. His favourite time of year. He walked the many flights of stairs to the castle ramparts, the late afternoon breeze tousling his already scruffy white hair. He ran his hands over the stone barricades, much smaller now that he was a grown man than they had been when he was a boy.

History. History was a background hum in Whitestone.

Despite his initial, privately held concern that a life consisting of anything less than constant excitement would bring her terrible boredom, Percy and Vex they had settled into their life together quite well. Their days of putting their lives on the line for the continent of Tal’dorei and beyond felt like they might be, if not behind them then certainly coming to a close. For all the accolades and remuneration thrown at their feet after what had become known as the Siege of Emon, they had found, much to their surprise, that they didn’t really have a use for any of it. They had each other, and a home in Whitestone. That was all they needed.

It took a toll though, being away from Vox Machina, the band of adventurers they’d come to call family. Some of them truly were family. It had been months since either of them had seen Keyleth and Vax. Keyleth, the Voice of the Tempest, had returned to her people, ready to usher them into a new age of prosperity and hope. Vax had gone with her. Grog and Pike were mixing it up in Vasselheim’s arena. They had expected Taryon to move on when the group decided to take a well-earned break, but he had surprised them with the announcement that he intended to stay in Whitestone for the foreseeable future. In the period since, Taryon had further proven himself a useful ally, a like mind and valued friend. He’d worked with Vex to open a bakery in Whitestone, winkingly named The Slayer’s Cake, pushed himself to finish work on a new and improved design for his mechanical construct Doty, and had also continued work on his beloved book. Tary had given Percy his latest draft for proofing and Percy carried it under his arm at this very moment. He had intended to read it up here on the roof but was now wondering if it was too blustery.

They hadn’t heard from Scanlan in almost a year. Percy wondered where the little man was these days. He suspected Keyleth might know, that her curiosity might have finally gotten the better of her. After successfully scrying on Scanlan last year, Percy, to his frustration, had never been able to replicate the feat. Instead, he’d sent informants from the city guard to locate and keep tabs on the gnome. As of yet, they had nothing to show for their efforts.

The wind howled again, pulling him from his reverie. Tary’s book slipped from under arm, clattering to the stone beneath Percy’s feet. He stooped to pick it up, pausing to look again at the note on its cover:

_For Vex and Percival, My Friends._

“There you are,” came a throaty voice from behind him. Book in hand, Percy turned to find Vex’ahlia moving across the rooftop towards him, her arms wrapped around herself in the cold. “I thought you said you’d be in the workshop. When I went down there, one of the guards said they saw you wandering off. What on earth are you doing up here, it’s freezing!”

Percy shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders as her large brown eyes, dark like the hair that cascaded over her shoulder in a lengthy braid, searched his face for what might be amiss. “I’m sorry darling, I meant to leave a note but I must have gotten sidetracked. It was getting a bit musty in there, thought I’d get some fresh air and read Tary’s latest draft.”

“Ah yes,” said Vex, trying not to sound too relieved, as they moved back toward the stairs. “Six months ago I’d have said I’d be interested to see if there’s an upper limit on just how much you can embroider the truth but now I think I’d quite like to see what that book has become.”

“It’s so interesting that he used my name like that,” Percy murmured, almost to himself as they descended to the fourth floor.

Vex frowned. “What do you mean? He just wrote Percival on it didn’t he?”

Percy stopped dead at the base of the stairway, his mouth hanging slightly open, his eyes widening in a moment of realisation. “Have I never told you about my name? I haven’t, have I?”

Vex hooked her right arm around his left, letting her head tilt onto his shoulder as they walked. “I like your stories.”

“My name,” stated Percy, as he had so many times before, “is Percival Frederickstein von Muessel Klossowski de Rolo the Third.”

Vex stopped dead, her head snapping up from his shoulder to glare at him. “Do you just like the sound of your own voice or what?” He arched an eyebrow, feigning great displeasure at having been interrupted. Though she fought it, a knowing grin spread across her face as their walk resumed. “I’m sorry, you were about to pontificate. By all means, carry on.”

“I am Percival de Rolo the Third,” he began again. “There were three of us to bear the name Percival de Rolo, two of whom were long dead by the time I inherited it.” He sighed as memories from his childhood began to bubble up in his mind. “You wouldn’t think a name could be that much of a burden to a child, but mine was. The history of Whitestone is long and storied enough that we are frequently named for our ancestors. So common was this practice of extending lineage in our family that we needed to be clear on who we were talking about when using specific names. 

“The name Percival carried a lot of weight within the castle. Percival de Rolo the First was my great-great-grandfather and one of the finest warrior-strategists this city has ever known. That it remains standing today is a testament to his prowess in combat and as a tactician. The city guard adhere to the defensive maneuvers he laid out even now, hundreds of years after his passing. Percival de Rolo the Second was my grandfather. He was a talented diplomat, revered for his political skill and social dexterity. He was honoured many times by the Tal’dorei royal family and even served on the Council of Emon at one point.” He could clearly remember spending hours in the family crypt beneath the castle, staring at their names engraved among the numerous others who bore the de Rolo name, hoping for even a whisper of advice from beyond.

Vex and Percy reached their chambers on the third floor now. He saw her expression tighten only slightly at the mention of Emon, their former home. While Vex’s title had granted her a house in the city proper, she’d come to enjoy spending time with her lover in the building that was his ancestral home.

“You needed to be clear who it was you were talking about when you said my name,” Percy murmured again, closing the door behind them before helping Vex remove his borrowed coat from around her shoulders. “Too many Percivals. Mother took to calling me Freddie to help give me some small sense of identity. I was, of course, an insufferable brat about it.” Vex gave him a sympathetic look as she sat down on the bed and began to remove her boots. “I was capital-r Royalty, darling,” said Percy, noting the look. “I wanted to be taken seriously. Mother liked that it ruffled me, I think, being called Freddie. Eventually I bargained her down to ‘Fred.’”

Percy fell silent as they began to change into their evening wear, returning almost reflexively his thoughts as Vex disappeared behind a changing screen.

“You don’t want me to call you Fred, do you, dear?” asked Vex from behind the screen, her voice uncharacteristically small as it broke the brief silence. That she would offer told Percy a lot -- she knew how much he’d loved his mother and, perceptive as she was, she'd likely detected the note of remorse in his voice. 

“No, no, I’m Percy now and happy to be so. Though it annoyed me at the time, I look back on those moments with Mother with great affection. I wish now that I hadn’t given her such a bloody hard time about it.”

“That’s a relief because I don’t think Fred suits you at all,” said Vex quickly. Off the surprised look he gave her, she added, “Sorry. Freddie on the other hand is adorable and I can’t wait to use it all the time starting now.” 

She reappeared from behind the screen wearing a floor-length blue, silver and white hooded robe inlaid with wool for extra warmth, her long brown hair now loose around her shoulders. Percy thought her, as he always did, a vision. “You’re a terror,” he said, pulling her into an embrace. “Love you madly.”

She look his hand as they parted, the impish grin giving way to a smile of genuine affection. “It’s just like you said, darling. You are Percival de Rolo the Third. You saw this city taken from your family and you took it back, piece by bloody, ragged piece. You restored the de Rolo name, returned your family to power, saw that it was protected against the Chroma Conclave and have been instrumental in the beginning of Whitestone’s next golden age.”Her words, while delivered with usual bravado, seemed to be only gaining in intensity the longer she spoke. “Percival the First and the Second were surely great men and I look forward to hearing more about them but, darling, don’t undersell your accomplishments here. You have moved mountains for this city. You have sacrificed, shed blood, sweat and tears for this place. You’ve given your life for it. Twice, as I recall, and there’ll be no more of that if I have anything to say about it. 

“The point is, you have earned your place in Whitestone’s history, Percy. And I know you think of your legacy as only being the weapons you created and the trail of dead they leave in their wake but you are _so much more than the fucking guns, darling_. You will be remembered with the same respect as the Percivals who went before you and, one day, perhaps there’ll be another young man who inherits your name. And just as you wondered about your forebears, Percival the Fourth will wonder how he could ever live up to the deeds of Percival Frederickstein von Muessel Klossowski de Rolo the Third. But he will, just as you did.”

The words seemed to tumble out of Vex in a rush. This was clearly something she’d wanted to tell him for a while but hadn’t quite known how to articulate it. In this moment, she sounded just like her brother, earnest and desperate for him to understand. The thought made him smile inwardly. In the face of such openness and honesty, Percy could feel the heat rising in his pale cheeks. “I don’t deserve you,” he muttered, suddenly unable to meet her eye.

She reached up and gently took the sides of his face in her hands, fighting back the swell of emotion she’d felt while ministering to him. ‘Nobody deserves me, darling, I’m amazing,” she said, working hard to keep her voice even. She pressed her lips to his. “We should take dinner in the library tonight. We can open a bottle of wine, sit by the fire and you can tell me all about the Percivals.”

As they departed their quarters once more, Percy remembered Tary’s book. An evening in the library would present the perfect opportunity to skim through it as Vex picked through Whitestone’s numerous histories. He saw the cover again as he picked it up.

_For Vex and Percival, My Friends._

It had taken Percy all day but he suddenly realised what it was about this cover that had given him pause -- it was the first time he’d ever seen _his_ name on the cover of a book, rather than those of his ancestors.

“That sounds perfect,” he said, tucking the book under his arm. “If you can stay awake for the whole sermon, I’ll consider the evening a rousing success.”


End file.
